« EelmineJätka »
The glittering emblem of each spotless dame,
Clear as her soul, and shining as her frame;
Beauty which nature only can impart,
And such a polish as disgraces art;
But fate dispos’d them in this humble sort,
And hid in deserts what would charm a court.
DiD Milton's prose, O Charles, thy death defend?
A furious foe unconscious proves a friend.
On Milton's verse did Bentley comment? Know,
A weak officious friend becomes a foe.
While he but sought his author's fame to further,
The murderous critic has aveng'd thy murther.
All hail, once pleasing, once inspiring shade,
Scene of my youthful loves, and happier hours ! Where the kind Muses met me as I stray'd,
And gently press'd my hand, and said, Be ours. Take all thou e'er shalt have, a constant Muse:
At court thou mayst be lik'd, but nothing gain; Stocks thou mayst buy and se!1, but always lose;
And love the brightest eyes, but love in vain.
THOUGH sprightly Sappho force our love and praise,
A softer wonder my pleas’d soul surveys,
The mild Erinna, blushing in her bays.
So, while the sun's broad beam yet strikes the sight,
All mild appears the moon's more sober light;
Serene, in virgin majesty she shines,
And, unobserv'd, the glaring sun declines.
ADRIANI MORIENTIS AD ANIMAM,
Ah, fleeting spirit! wandering fire,
That long hast warm'd my tender breast,
Must thou no more this frame inspire;
No more a pleasing cheerful guest?
Whither, ah whither art thou flying,
To what dark undiscover'd shore?
Thou seem'st all trembling, shivering, dying,
And wit and humour are no more !
See Memoir prefixed to these volumes, p. Ixx.
old friend is grown so great,
As to be Minister of State,
I'm told, but 'tis not true I hope,
That Craggs will be asham'd of Pope.
Alas! if I am such a creature,
To grow the worse for growing greater;
Why, faith, in spite of all my brags,
"Tis Pope must be asham'd of Craggs.
ODE TO QUINBUS FLESTRIN, THE MAN MOUNTAIN,' BY TITTY TIT, POET LAUREATE TO
Lost I gaze!
Can our eyes
Reach thy size!
May my lays
Swell with praise,
All thy fire!
Bards of old
Of him told,
When they said
Propp'd the skies :
See! and believe your eyes !
See him stride
Over floods !
When he treads,
Groan and shake :
Man and steed:
Troops, take heed !
Left and right,
Speed your flight !
Lest an host
Beneath his foot be lost!
From his hide
Safe from wound,
From his nose
Clouds he blows:
When he speaks,
When he eats,
Famine threats !
When he drinks,
Neptune shrinks !
Nigh thy ear
In mid air,
On thy hand
Let me stand;
So shall I,
Lofty poet! touch the sky.
THE LAMENTATION OF GLUMDALCLITCH
FOR THE LOSS OF GRILDRIG.
Soon as Glumdalclitch miss'd her pleasing care,
She wept, she blubber'd, and she tore her hair;
No British miss sincerer grief has known,
Her squirrel missing, or her sparrow flown.
She furld her sampler, and haul'd in her thread,
And stuck her needle into Grildrig's bed ;
Then spread her hands, and with a bounce let fall
Her baby, like the giant in Guildhall.